


Welcome to the Dark Side

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-15
Updated: 2006-04-17
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Distressed by the revelation that the love of her life doesn't rate her beauty highly, Hermione embarks on a spiral of self-transformation and self-harm. This affects her love-life and her triangular friendship with Harry and Ron dramatically. Her new lifestyle leads her to the Hogwarts Underground, a moral void that lies beneath the surface, fuelled by wayward magical power.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

_Welcome to the Dark Side_ is a thrilling rollercoaster of teenage love and turmoil fuelled by the pervasive and powerful tool of magic. The story touches on elements of Hogwarts life so far uncharted by Rowling. Hermione, after her self-induced magical transformation, wreaks havoc in the lives of her friends, and begins to damage her own. Meanwhile all the seventh years that left last year, like Angelina Johnson, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan, have discovered the delights of age-restricted Knightwist Alley and Puddlevodka shots. They have left behind their friends in Hogwarts, who, in their absence, make new and unexpected alliances. Also an underground network of vice is establishing itself in the school, sucking away the purity and high morality revered by Albus Dumbledore. Has all the innocence that Molly Weasley claims was manifested in her schooldays disappeared? 

Maybe it has, but life is much more exciting. The question is, when does the quest for excitement get dangerous in the magical world?

 

 

** Welcome to the Dark Side **

22nd August

It was nearly the end of the summer holidays, and a rather plain, bushy-haired girl was lying on her stomach in the garden, a neat, moderately tended example of middle-class suburbia. She was reading a book, _Treatises on Trigomagica_ , by Reatus Dabbling, and eating salt and vinegar crisps out of a bowl.

            “Hermione!” Judith Granger, an older model of her daughter, with a dark mass of hair cut so short that it stuck out around her head, and wearing shapeless old trousers and a flowered shirt, stepped out of the back door. “Supper time, darling!” Hermione jumped up, carefully marking her page, and followed her mother indoors to the smell of shepherd’s pie.

            “Mm, it smells great, mum!” 

            “Ahem!” David Granger cleared his throat teasingly. 

            “Oh,” added her mother hastily, “Dad did help.” She handed Hermione a plate, and the family tucked in to the rather haphazard pie. Mrs Granger’s cooking was not renowned as the best, even if she did try very hard. Hermione could not help thinking of the delicious food she would be eating at her friend Ron Weasley’s house the next week. She had sent him an owl complete with holiday snaps – Ron, and she suspected, his father, were fascinated by unmoving Muggle photographs, and that morning had received a reply, inviting her to his house for the last week of the holidays. A letter from Harry was enclosed too, and she was saving that to read tonight.

            “What were you reading, Hermione?” asked her mother.

            “Oh, _Treatises on Trigomagica_.”

            “Is it for your advanced Arithmancy course?” questioned David, proudly.

            “Yeah, it’s very interesting – if a bit heavy going!” Her parents tittered appreciatively. If that had been Ron and Harry, her two best friends, they would have been laughing at her for being so work-orientated. The truth was, Hermione had never really been seriously introduced to any other pastime for any length of time, and working was her life.

            “So, if I’m going to the Weasley’s on Wednesday, for the rest of the summer, I’ll need to pack soon really,” she said, whilst clearing the dishes.

            “Oh, I wish you weren’t going quite so soon. I do like having you around,” said Judith, sighing.

            “But I’ve been invited – and this school is very important to me.”

            “Oh, I know, dear. I am so proud of you for doing so well – boarding school is just the price we must pay.” Judith proffered a huge slice of cake. “Take this upstairs, while you pack, go on!” 

Hermione hurried up the stairs, panting, and came into her room, a neat little place, covered in wizard photographs and sketches done by her friend Dean Thomas, who was gifted with a pencil, and made them come alive with spells. Sitting down at her desk, she bit into her cake, and decided to dig into Harry’s letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Glad to hear from you via. Ron (I take it’s all right I read his letter!). Hope you’ve been having a good summer –_ _Greece_ _sounded awesome. I’ve been cooped up a bit at my aunt and uncle’s, but am now at Ron’s. Dudley (the cousin) gave up the wrestling (he was banned after losing his temper and hurling a judge into the ringside) and has put on a lot of weight again where the muscles were, which makes me feel a lot safer when he’s around, as he’s not as strong and just sits around with his friends in stupors. He’s discovered a few things over the year, I’ve found out. He smokes like a chimney, despite Aunt Petunia’s cries that “that horrid Jake just breathes all over him”. Also, I found an empty vodka bottle in his room, but I’m not too worried. He’s so huge it couldn’t possibly affect him! He has a girlfriend, a “beautiful” one, according to his mother, who’s actually a peroxide blonde nearly as big as him!_

_By the way, Ron thinks your Muggle cousin from the photos is really fit! I’m completely over Cho. Are you still going with Viktor Krum? In a way, I hope not, because I’m completely hung up on you! You look a little porky in those holiday snaps you sent Ron (!), but I still think you’re really attractive. Anyway, sorry to bring up my feelings – it’s probably the last thing you want to hear._

_Love, Harry_

Hermione slammed the letter back onto the table, shocked. Harry hung up on her? And she was porky! She rummaged around in her papers, and opened the packet of photos she had not stuck up yet, taken on her holiday in Greece. The first was a shot of her splashing in the sea with her cousin, Daniella. They were both in bikinis. Daniella was tall and extremely slim, with long blonde hair and a perfect tan. Hermione looked at herself with a sigh. She was so much shorter, and so much _chubbier_. Her pale stomach stuck out a bit, and her legs were adolescent and flabby. Tears pricked at the back of Hermione’s eyes. Harry Potter, the one boy she had ever cared for, thought she was fat. She had never liked Viktor as much as she had loved Harry – all that had been a pretence to hide her insecurities. She locked her bedroom door, and looked at herself in the full-length mirror on her wardrobe. She was wearing flared jeans and a strappy top. The trousers were just a little too tight, straining at the pockets. Sighing, she unbuttoned them, and let them slide to the floor, seeing her legs emerge like tree-trunks. She peeled off the striped vest top, and stared at the girl standing in her underwear, a pair of black knickers – size 12/14, and a plain T-shirt bra she had bought with her mother. It was slightly too small, cutting into her. Hermione was actually crying now. She was ugly, and disgustingly fat, and that did not bother her. It was the fact that people were actually noticing it. 

            “Hermione!” Her mother was knocking at the door. She hurriedly pulled on slacks and a baggy shirt, and opened it. 

            “Darling! Have you been crying?”

            “No, just had a sneezing fit,” Hermione said lightly. 

            “Well, would you like some more cake?” asked Judith, smiling.

            “Um, no… it’s all right.”

            “Really, Hermy?”

            “No.” She steeled herself. “Mum, do you think Daniella’s prettier than me?”

            “Oh, darling, no. She’s very obviously pretty. But far too skinny, that child – looks like a daddy-long-legs! I much prefer you.”

            “Oh. Well, mummy, I’d better be packing, so night! See you tomorrow.”

            “Goodnight, darling.”

That night, before sinking into uneasy sleep, Hermione vowed that she would become thin. That would show Harry! She would be beautiful, and then she would play the part of the aloof friend to perfection…

_ 29th August _

Hermione hadn’t eaten anything for the last four days, carrying out her plan with steely resolve. She was usually very determined in doing work, and now transferred this to her diet seamlessly. The problem was, that afternoon she was to go to the Weasley’s, and she looked _awful,_ self-confessedly. Not eating had left her rather pale and limpid-looking, with a few rather noticeable pimples. So, at nine o’clock in the morning, Hermione decided, against her moral judgement, to use magic to beautify herself, and she collected together all the materials she thought she would need.

            “I have to look as stunning as I can, to taunt him,” she persuaded herself, first raiding her mother’s make-up bag for Muggle facial products. She nipped out to the nearest chemist to purchase a few extra articles, as her family’s emphasis was not on external appearance, so she did not have much. She had also decided to bend the rules of no magic during the holidays. The Ministry would not interfere unless a Muggle came into contact with a spell, and so she carefully locked her door. Her parents were at work anyway. 

First she used liberal quantities of _Sleekeasy’s Hair Potion_ on her bushy hair, so it fell in soft, shiny waves beyond her shoulders. Then she put a Permanence Charm onto it, so it would remain so for a good few weeks. She applied Muggle face powder onto her slightly shiny nose, and subtle mascara and eyeliner, first lengthening and curling her rather stubby lashes around her wand. In a book she had never thought she would use, given to her by Penelope Clearwater, an ex-Hogwarts student who had liked her and given her a pile of second-hand school things after Hermione had saved her life, she found a Facial Radiance Charm, and applied it, so her skin and eyes glowed brightly. Next came the most important things. Here Hermione was dabbling into rather dodgy territory. It was rather underhand and even sometimes illegal to use magic to change other people’s view of her, but she was desperately unhappy, and therefore justified it within herself. She carefully learnt some new spells to use. They were, as advertised in the book, by Belinda Bleentiful:

_Slimming Spell – An innovative new spell, which gives the illusion of slimness. Lasts for one week. Guaranteed to make you look as if you have lost at least five pounds, depending on body size._

_Desire Draught – Put this charm on a glass of water, and drink. It makes the drinker look infinitely more desirable._

_Beauty Charm – Enhances the natural beauty of the user._

Hermione had also sent off by Owl Order for the following potion, advertised in the Daily Prophet, rather against her better judgement. 

_Dr Dassel’s Diet Potion_

_Struggling to shift a few pounds? You won’t be soon! Drink this potion and you will instantly lose one pound per measure (see lid for measure) from key target areas found by extensive surveys of British witches. Satisfaction Guaranteed!_

This was really to be the key to her operation, and had cost an outrageous eleven Galleons for the small bottle. 

            “It had better work,” she muttered, pouring out one lid-full, equalling one measure. She quickly drank some measures of the foul-tasting stuff. It was a very queer sensation, like a corset tightening around her whole body, but within a minute, her jeans were too baggy, and her stomach had tautened visibly. Excited, she downed more mouthfuls, until her tummy was nearly flat, and her jeans hung around newly defined hips. 

Hermione applied the last few spells, and looked in the mirror. The change was truly miraculous. She had purposefully not changed herself too much, but she looked infinitely more attractive. She shrank her clothes with a wave of her wand, and altered the jeans so that they sat lower on her waist, showing off her flat stomach. She was pleased – no weight had come off her chest, so she had a good figure in her strappy top, which she shrank so it clung, and shortened it to reveal her navel. Happy finally, she finished her packing, and threw on a big jersey so her mother was not alarmed by her changed appearance when she returned from her dentist’s practice at lunch. 

            “Bye, mum!” Her mother hugged her tightly as Hermione waved goodbye from her local station’s platform, and stepped onto an ordinary Muggle train bound for London.

            “Have a great term, darling! Do well in your exams!” 

            “Bye, then.” Hermione pulled in her trunk and settled herself in a compartment. It would take twenty minutes to get as near as she could to the Leaky Cauldron, owning the only wizard fireplace she knew how to get to from the Muggle world, and she would then travel by Floo Powder to the Burrow. She knew the Weasley’s little house was in Ottery St. Catchpole, but had no idea where that village was. Hermione had sent an owl to Ron and Harry that morning:

_Dear Ron and Harry,_

_I’m all packed and ready to go this afternoon – please could you make sure there’s nothing in your kitchen fireplace, Ron, because I’m coming by Floo from_ _London_ _._

_Anyway, I can catch up with everything at around five, when I’ll be arriving. Hope all is well,_

_Love, Hermione_

With somewhat vindictive pleasure, Hermione was looking forward to Harry’s expression when he saw her. Even on the Muggle train, a few youths were eyeing her up appreciatively, taking in her long hair, attractive heart-shaped face and large, well-accentuated brown eyes, as well as her new figure. She would show him… All those years that she had hidden her love for him, and borne his teasing comments; they would be repaid. She would be detached, and pretend that nothing was different. She rehearsed the lines in her head, smirking inwardly. 

            “D’you need help getting this off?” asked a tall boy, who looked about eighteen, as she heaved her trunk off.

            “No, it’s all right,” she said, in a low, laughing voice, smiling teasingly at him. This flirting thing wasn’t as hard as it seemed! It took only a few minutes to get to the Leaky Cauldron, and it was only half-past-four when she was standing in the fire with her trunk, having paid Tom, the barman, for a pinch of Floo Powder.

            “The Burrow!” she said, clearly, feeling the hot, whirling sensation as she was whisked the many miles through a network of fireplaces, coming to rest in the Weasley kitchen, where Ron’s mother was supervising a knife peeling potatoes of its own accord, while she read a copy of _Witch Weekly_. 

            “Hi Mrs Weasley,” said Hermione eagerly.

            “Oh, hello dear,” replied Mrs Weasley, getting up hastily to help the girl with her trunk. “You look wonderful, Hermione, really different. Now, the boys are upstairs in Ron’s room. Leave your trunk here, and Bill can levitate it up in a minute.” 

            “Thanks, Mrs Weasley!” said Hermione, walking through the kitchen to the stairs, and up past the explosions in Fred and George’s room. Fred and George were Ron’s elder brothers, who owned a prominent joke shop in Diagon Alley. Ron’s room was right at the top. Hermione smoothed her hair and hooked one thumb nonchalantly in a belt loop before pushing open the door. 

            “Hey Ron, hey Harry!” she greeted the boys, standing in the doorway.

            “Oh, Hermione! You’re early,” said Ron. “We were going to come down to meet –” He stopped short, looking up, gasping. “Whoa, you look so different!” he remarked, unsubtly. Harry remained silent, inwardly gasping as loud as Ron.

            “Do I?” she said, turning around, innocently.

            “Well, yeah,” said Harry, speaking for the first time. “Different.” Harry truthfully could not find words to express his feelings. He had fallen in love with this girl, or so he thought. He had fallen in love with her personality, in spite of her bushy hair, buckteeth and plumpness. Now he was confronted with all he had ever wanted, as well as a beautiful appearance.

            “Um… cup of tea?” offered Ron, gobsmacked.

It was later that night, and Hermione was installed in Ginny’s room. The boys were finally alone again, and could talk freely.

            “Whoa, she looks fine!” said Ron, honestly.

            “Yeah, she’s lost weight, hasn’t she?” Harry replied.

            “’S’not just that. She’s done something with her hair, and she just looks like… amazing! She’s so much more confident. I think I fancy her, y’know Harry?” Harry inhaled sharply.

            “Um, Ron, I’ve been in love with her for the past year.”

            “Cut it out! You were in love with Cho, weren’t you?”

            “Not really. I’ve always liked Hermione.”

            “Don’t give me that!” Ron was bemused. He and Harry had never competed over girls before.

            “Yeah, I have! Seriously Ron, she’s the one!”

            “Yeah, mate. Now she is,” said Ron, woodenly. “I don’t believe you’re lying about this, anyway. I might have let you have her, but…” He broke off as Harry cut in.

            “Let me have her! You think? You’re the one who I had to find a date for the Yule Ball. You’re the one who’s never had a girlfriend. I’m the one with the fan club, mate, and you know it!” Harry regretted saying that instantly, but could not bring himself to apologise. 

            “Fine.” Ron was livid now – Harry could sense his anger across the dark room. “If it’s going to be a competition, let it be a competition. The winner can get her. And it’ll be her choice. Let’s see who’s got the flirting skills, then.” And Ron turned over, fists clenched.

            “Good. Try to beat me at my own game, then.” Harry rolled over the opposite way, imagining himself pulverising Ron’s head and feeding it to the Giant Squid. Hermione was looking on, clapping. She was wearing a white silk dress, and as she dived into the lake, the material clung, nearly transparent. Harry dreamed of the lake for quite a while…

_ 31st August _

The church clock of Ottery St. Catchpole tolled midnight. Hermione tiptoed across the silent corridor and opened the door of Percy’s deserted room, which was dark and forbidding. It contained a desk and a bed, still lovingly made by Mrs Weasley. She could hardly contain her excitement. She was wearing a baggy blue shirt and the same skirt she had worn that day, a denim mini. As she sat down on the bed, the door creaked open again.

            “I’m so glad you could get out,” said Hermione, eagerly. “Is he asleep? Ginny is.”

            “Yep, he is. And Fred and George are out; they’re sleeping in the shop. Bill’s in their room, and it’s all dark. We’re safe!” He touched Hermione’s shoulder lightly. 

            “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to be alone. But it’s the last night of the holidays. At school, it might not be so easy,” said Hermione, relaxing under his gentle massage of her back. His hands were under her shirt, following her spine, softly moving. Soon they moved round, not too fast and distastefully, but tenderly, to the curve of her sides, and then up to her bra. She felt comfortable as he undid her shirt, stroking her stomach, kissing her. His hot lips moved from hers down her body, and she felt her stomach clench, butterflies rising. 

He was happy, moving his hands and his lips over her beautiful smoothness. Her curves were perfect, existing but firm and toned. Her soft lips in a half-smile as she kissed, demonstrating to him how lucky she felt. He could not tell that this was her first kiss, her first closeness. Her body was amazing, and her personality was as vibrant as it had been before. What more could her ask for? All the guilt for betraying his best friend ebbed away as he continued to caress the beautiful girl, knowing that his friend would have been doing the same thing, if Hermione had chosen him. 

_ 1st September _

It was the first day of the new term, one of the most worrying ones in the year for Molly Weasley, and she was hurriedly dressing. The start of term owl had arrived late – Errol, the family owl, had concussed himself on a low-flying aircraft on the way, and so she had only heard about the changes to the schedule the day before.

_Dear Parents,_

_Due to the fact that the Hogwarts Express has been renovated to render it more efficient for anti-pollution reasons, the journey has been cut down by two hours. Therefore this term we request students to be at Platform 9¾ no later than_ _1pm_ _. This will give them time to partake of an early lunch at home, although the refreshments trolley will be available as usual. I hope this will ease arrangements._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

“Ease arrangements indeed!” harrumphed Mrs Weasley indignantly. “Providing lunch for this rabble too, before I even _attempt_ to take them to the station! Oh, for the love of Merlin – what now?” She rushed over to her window to behold Fred and George, still wearing the jeans and jackets they had left the house in the previous night, attempting to sneak in through the back door, trying to silence the flock of Weasley poultry chasing them, which was crowing and clucking as best it knew how.

“Right!” Mrs Weasley, still in her faded flowered house robes and slippers, cannoned down the stairs, not even apologising to a bemused Ginny, who had been sent flying. “Get – in – here – right – now!” she bellowed out of the window, whilst muttering “Alohomora,” at the back door, which opened with such force it popped off its rusty hinges and hit George, who entered after his twin, massaging his forehead. 

“Here!” snapped his mother, throwing him a bag of frozen peas and a tea towel, before hitting the pair with a barrage of furious words. “What do you _think_ you are doing coming in at this hour?”

“We went out in Knightwist Alley, you know, behind Diagon –” began Fred.

            “I am perfectly aware of where Knightwist Alley is, Fred,” interjected Mrs Weasley, smoothly. Behind her, Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny, dressed in as much of their school uniform as could pass off as Muggle, moved silently down the stairs, watching avidly. “The question is not where you were.”

            “Um, well, some of the old Hogwarts people, well, you know, we left early. Well they wanted us to show them around Knightwist,” said George. Knightwist Alley was full of wizarding bars and clubs, and could only be entered once a person was eighteen years old, and had left school. A magical entrance point monitored this. The twins had been going there since they had left Hogwarts the previous Easter, but their friends who had only left this summer, were new to it all. 

            “That is not the point. The point is the agreement that your father and I made with you. You can stay living here, until you can afford a flat in Diagon Alley or wherever you want, if you abide by the same rules as everyone else has. In by twelve. Not when you feel like it the next – bloody – morning!” Mrs Weasley swelled visibly. 

            “Yes, Mum.”

            “Sorry, Mum.” The twins looked about fourteen as they apologised, and their mother relented.

            “Fine,” she said, nodding. “Up you go, get washed and changed. I’m making breakfast if you want it.” By the doorway Fred stopped and turned back.

            “Mum?” he called her back. “Why couldn’t we Apparate back into our bedroom? We tried, but it didn’t work.”

            “This house is on the Closed Apparition Circuit. You can Apparate between rooms, but if you want to go far, you need to go outside into the yard,” said Mrs Weasley, amused.

            “Cheers, mum,” said George, frozen peas still clutched to his forehead.

The other four trooped into the kitchen, where Mrs Weasley was now hurriedly tossing bacon into a pan. 

            “Can we help?” asked Hermione. She looked radiant this morning, with her hair tied up in a messy knot, wearing her school grey skirt with higher heels than normal, and her loose grey jumper with Gryffindor piping without a shirt underneath. 

            “No, dear, I’ve got it all under control,” replied Mrs Weasley, waving her wand at a drawer so a heap of cutlery flew dangerously across the kitchen and started laying itself on the table. 

Someone else was looking radiant that morning too, as they all tucked into bacon and eggs. That person was occasionally sharing secretive glances with Hermione, and was smiling inwardly all the while. Ron Weasley was, for the first time in his life, overwhelmingly happy. Someone had picked him first, over all the others, including Harry, who always beat him at everything. Even as a young child, someone would have always picked the amusing, boisterous, noticeable twins over him, or clever Percy, or sporty Charlie, or Bill, who was all of these things, as well as, as far as Ron could see, being devastatingly attractive to women. But Hermione had chosen him! But, it was becoming increasingly clear to him, in the stark, unromantic light of day, that he would have to tell Harry, and he had no idea in the world how to go about this.

            “Ron! Fred! Go out and feed the chickens, will you?”

            “Why not George?” Ron moaned, getting up resignedly.

            “His head, dear. Off you go!” The pair left. As he and his brother filled a bucket with grain, Ron decided to confide in his brother. 

            “Hey, Fred, can I tell you something?”

            “Sure, little bro, fire away!” said Fred, laughingly.

            “It’s about Hermione,” started Ron, uneasily.

            “Whoa, yeah, that’s a _nice_ piece of goods, these days! I must say, if I wasn’t tied to darling Angelina –”

            “Still?” asked Ron. 

“Yep. It’s been eight months now. Anyway, you were saying?” Ron related a summary of the entire story to his brother, who listened closely, with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his freckled face. 

“What did you do with her? You sleep with her?”

“No!” said Ron, scandalised. “Just, well. Y’know.” 

“And you don’t know what to do about Harry?” asked Fred, not pressing his point.

“Exactly. He said he’d always been in love with her, or some crap like that,” said Ron, shrugging.

“You got to be honest with him,” decided Fred, wisely. “After all, he gave you that challenge, and you made the mark. Don’t say that, obviously. And she’s a clever chick – she’ll talk to him today, I’ll bet. Say that you hooked up with her, you don’t even know where it’s going to go, you’re sorry if you’ve stepped on his toes, but the three of you will talk it out. Okay?” 

“Cheers, Fred,” breathed Ron in relief, as they walked back to the house.

Ron told Harry when they had gone up to their room to pack. Harry’s reaction was not as big as he had dreaded.

“Right. Yeah, I thought something might be up. I talked to Hermione and told her how I felt, but she was really aloof, talking about someone else. I thought it was George, though, not you.”             “George! What do you mean?” asked Ron, confused. 

“Oh, I dunno, something he mentioned. It was obviously just a coincidence.”

“Oh,” said Ron, plumping himself down on the bed.

            Mrs Weasley had in fact overheard the end of Ron and Fred’s conversation, when she had been magically expelling some peelings out of the kitchen window for compost. She was now in a three-way dilemma. She had never really trusted or liked that Hermione Granger, but every time she had openly not done so, she had been proven dramatically wrong. But now that girl was spreading discord between Ron and Harry. She loved Ron dearly as her son, but she also felt maternal towards Harry, particularly since she was now his legal guardian, after Sirius’ demise. She was also shocked by the implication that Ron might have “done” anything with anybody, although she admitted, such was life.

            She remembered how she and Arthur had tripped down secretly after hours to the Quidditch changing rooms… He had been captain of the Gryffindor team in his last two years, a Keeper, and consequently had the key to the room. And they had first “done” it in sixth year, she realised, although, obviously, they had been much more mature than ickle Ronnie. What should she do? In the end, Molly decided to remain silent and impartial, but she could not help a certain frosty glare as she waved Hermione and the others goodbye at King’s Cross.

Meanwhile, Harry, already crushed by Ron’s blow, was now in a position to completely annihilate Ron emotionally, but did not really want to. All right, Ron had won the fight for the beautiful girl, but honestly, with what he knew, she was not really so desirable. As he sat alone with Ginny (the others were getting orders in the Prefects’ Carriage), he wondered whether to tell Ron what he knew.

_ September 1st – Continued _

Ron came back to Harry’s compartment with his Prefect’s badge pinned on his chest.

            “Where’s Ginny?” he demanded, at the same time as Harry asked where Hermione was.

            “Ginny’s taken her stuff – she’s gone to sit with Alicia Spinnet a few doors down. Alicia was a pretty Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

            “Why?” asked Ron.

            “I don’t know. Apparently she needed some advice or something.”

            “Well, Hermione’s been appointed as the Academia Prefect, so she’s staying in the Prefect’s Carriage.” The Academia Prefect was the head of all studies within the school, helping with timetables and individual work-related problems. “Listen – mate, about that, are you all right? I mean, she called herself my girlfriend to Katie Bell just now,” said Ron, reddening slightly, a reaction that always clashed with his hair. 

            “Yeah,” sighed Harry. This was the time, he told himself. Now was the time to reveal what he knew. “Ron. I have to tell you something,” he began, awkwardly. Now it was his turn to be going red – his glasses were slipping down his nose with anxiety. “I saw Hermione going at it with George,” he blurted out.

            

            Ron didn’t speak for a minute. He caught his breath, looking at Harry, who was wincing apologetically.

            “Harry, I know – I know you’re my mate. I know you wouldn’t lie about this. But you have, well, y’know, seen funny stuff before.” Ron was uneasy, but his friend returned adamantly:

            “Ron – I wish I was wrong. You’ve seemed so happy since you two got together. But I can’t hide it from you. I know what I saw. I’m sorry.”

            “Well, there’s one way to settle this.” Ron pulled Pigwidgeon out of his cage, and hurriedly penned a note.

_Dear George,_

_I need you to be honest. Did you have any sort of a relationship with my girlfriend, Hermione, last week? I need to be sure. Reply as soon as possible,_

_Ron._

Harry woke up Hedwig, his own snowy owl. 

            “Come on, Ron, she’s faster.” Ron assented and tied on the note. 

            “As fast as you can go, and get a reply,” urged Harry. The boys sat in almost silence for the ensuing two hours. Hermione returned, and sat sleeping on Ron’s shoulder, as content as a kitten, while Ron looked tortured as he looked at the pretty girl, who he was now fairly sure, might be cheating on him, and with his own brother! She had artistically draped her silky locks over his shoulder so they hung down, and her chest was pressed up against him. 

            At a quarter to four, Hedwig reappeared through the window, looking intensely ruffled, but with a page of parchment torn from what looked like a book tied to her leg. Ron, resting Hermione gently against his schoolbag, slid onto Harry’s seat to read George’s letter.

_Ron,_

_I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know Hermione was your girlfriend, when we got together. It was a one-time thing, on the last evening of the holidays, before Fred and I went out. To be honest, she seemed a cool chick, and hot as hell, and I couldn’t resist. I feel awful – thinking about it, and I also don’t know what the hell to do about Alicia, because she must know as well as anyone that although we never finished officially, we haven’t met up, and I’ve been hooking girls all over Knightwist Alley this summer. This is bound to get around, so try and hush the rumours a little, for her sake._

_Apologies,_

_George._

            “Christ! The same night – it must have been just before me!” said Ron, gesturing Harry out into the corridor, and into the next empty compartment. “The slut! What’s got into her lately? I cannot believe this!”

            “What d’you reckon she’s planning on next?” asked Harry, incredulously. “Pretending it didn’t happen?”

            “I dunno,” mumbled Ron, obviously shocked beyond belief now his fears were confirmed.

            “And what about you, mate?” Harry ploughed on. “What are you going to do?”

            “I think I’ll end it,” his friend decided, “but I won’t say why. You reckon?” 

            “Yeah, and then it’s hanging over her. I for one won’t be able to look at Hermione in the same way ever again. That’s just point blank abuse, of your relationship and your friendship.” The two boys, rather out of breath from the revelations they had uncovered, went back into their own compartment, where Hermione was changing, with her back to them.

            “God help me!” moaned Ron, as she peeled off her jumper to show a purple lace bra, and pulled on her shirt. They entered, and she turned around as she buttoned, blushing coyly.

            “Oh, hey, I didn’t know where you’d gone. Sorry!” She pulled her jumper back down, and slipped into her robes. “By the way, there’s to be another ball, on September the thirtieth, to celebrate Professor Dumbledore’s fiftieth year as Headmaster – did you know?”

            “No,” said Harry, “how do you know?”

            “Oh, Ernie Macmillan just dropped in. He was announcing it, I think, in hope of a partner!” Hermione smiled somewhat derisively. “Are you all right, Ron?” She touched him lightly on the arm. “At least you’ll have a partner – eh?”

            “Yeah,” he grunted, although his face was purple. “About that, Hermione – Harry? Could you give us a minute?”

            “Sure!” replied Harry, perhaps a little too joyously. He beat a fairly hasty retreat, at a withering look from his best friend, and continued down the corridor, looking for somebody he knew. Unfortunately for him, somebody he knew spied him first.

            “Look who it is. Potter!” He recognised Draco Malfoy’s drawl, from where he was sitting in the compartment behind instantly. 

            “Hello, Malfoy,” he returned, coolly. 

            “I hear your two precious Gryffindor prefects are linked, now? Feeling a bit left out of the rain, Potter? Lost the badge, then the bitch? Don’t worry, Potty, I’m sure you’ll find someone to take you to the ball!”

            “How’s Pansy, Malfoy? Managed to communicate with her in troll language to issue your invitation?” retorted Harry, smoothly. 

            “Watch it, Potter,” said Draco, shaking with suppressed anger at this slur on his long-term girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, his fellow Slytherin Prefect. “At least _I_ haven’t been turned down by a Mudblood.” Seated like hefty bodyguards on either side of him, Crabbe and Goyle guffawed appreciatively. 

            “At least I haven’t been turned down by enough girls to force me to ask out Pansy Parkinson,” returned Harry, not amused. “And don’t try it, boys. I didn’t survive five attacks by Lord Voldemort for nothing,” he added, whipping out his wand, as Malfoy fingered his, longingly. 

            “At least you can handle one kind of stick,” Malfoy taunted. “Although I’m sure I can’t say so much for Weasel King either.”

            “You’d know, having conducted so much of that kind of activity with him, I’m sure. More than you’ve ever done with that troll-doll of yours, though.”

            “That’s enough!” said Malfoy, his eyes flashing furiously. Harry knew that he had won, having forced his enemy beyond insults to plain anger. 

            “I think so too, for the moment,” he said, calmly, and strolled out, although his fist was still gripped tightly on his wand. His next port of call was a few doors along, where Ginny was sitting with Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, two pretty Gryffindors. The two elder girls were looking decidedly upset.

            “Oh, hello Harry,” said Alicia, breathily. She was a small girl, and very attractive, being built very lightly on her five foot two frame, although she had what George Weasley called a “killer rack”. Her blonde hair was long and straight, and her eyes, set in a tanned pointed face, were very large and blue, currently rather full. Katie was very different – very tall and slim, with a sleek ponytail of waving jet-black hair, and a Mediterranean olive skin. . 

            “What’s the matter, girls?” he asked. He knew them both very well – they and their friend Angelina Johnson, who had left with the Weasley twins, had been on his Quidditch team for over five years now. 

            “Oh, our boyfriends are jerks!” said Katie. “It sounds so silly like that, and of course we’ve known really all summer, but it kind of hit when we got back to everyone at school, and they all knew too,” she said, gloomily.

            “Both of you?” asked Harry, puzzled. “I know Alicia was with George, but what about you, Katie?”             “I had been going out with Lee Jordan for over five months, but when the summer hit, he didn’t answer my owls, and got so overexcited about the fact that he could drink Puddlevodka shots and stay out all night in Knightwist that apparently the girls he could sleep with there outweighed me. Including, by the way, Daryl.” Harry winced. Daryl Bell, who had left Gryffindor the year before with Angelina and the rest, was, in Harry’s opinion, acres less pretty than her younger sister, which probably added insult to injury. He could only vaguely recall her, as a rather large specimen, with a swinging black pigtail down her back. “She, by the way, has hardly been home all summer. She’s been dividing her time between staying in a room at the Leaky Cauldron, which about twenty of them split, or in various people’s houses in London,” Katie remarked rather inconsequentially.

            “And George, as you’re probably aware, has been doing the same thing,” chimed in Alicia, acidly. “His tally rises to Mielle Delacour – remember that French part-Veela girl? Well, Mielle is her cousin. Also, Penelope Clearwater – who’s now modelling for _Enchanted!_ magazine, Roger Davies’ ex, Cicely Darke, Grahaemia Marchbanks, and to top it all, that bookworm Hermione Granger.” She paused, breathing through her nostrils as Professor McGonagall did when she was in a temper. “Sorry, Harry – I know you’re mates and she probably didn’t know, but she’s not exactly a stunner.”

            “Well,” said Ginny, tentatively, “she has changed a lot over the summer, Alicia.”

            “Talk of the devil,” murmured Harry, as his two friends stomped in, both rather flushed in the face.

            “Just to say, the train stops in forty minutes,” said Hermione stonily, before continuing to the next compartment. Alicia gasped, as Ron slumped on the seat beside his sister. 

            “First time I ever dumped anyone,” he said, wearily. 

            “You dumped Hermione!” said Ginny, surprised. “I thought she was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

            “You don’t understand,” explained Harry. “Ron was going out with her when she slept with George.” Ginny opened her mouth in shock.

            “What a cow! Ron – are you all right?” Ron nodded. Meanwhile, Alicia was goggling at the doorway that Hermione had just vacated. 

            “ _That_ was Hermione Granger?”

            “Yup,” said Ron, dolefully. “I just dumped the hottest girl I’ll ever have a chance with. And I dumped my chances of a date for this ball, I reckon. She’ll pollute the minds of all the girls in our year, if I know Hermione.”

            “Don’t worry,” Ginny soothed, clapping him on the back. “I can always go with you.” The others laughed, rising out of their respective miserable states.

            “Well, thanks – that cheers me up!” And it did. 

_ September 4th _

            “What the hell are we going to do about this ball?” said Ron gloomily, unwrapping a small parcel he had been delivered at breakfast with mild interest. “My God – look at this!” He groaned, proffering the ripped brown paper. “I left my sandwiches at home. Mum must have posted them!” Harry winced as he saw the mess of rotting corned beef fused with soggy bread. 

            “It’s taken four days, Ron,” said Harry, trying to stifle a chuckle as his friend wrinkled his nose. For answer, Ron grimaced at Errol, who was upturned in the mouth of the milk jug, feet hanging limply over the rim and milk splashed over the table. 

            “All right, all right, he’s a rubbish owl,” he said defensively, as Harry snorted derisively, “but Hogwarts is a tough journey. I mean… all the trees and stuff…” he tailed off limply. Harry was pretty sure he heard Hermione cough disdainfully, from where she sat with Parvati Patil and a gawping Colin Creevey and his friends, who had switched his obsessive spotlight from Harry onto Hermione, a much more responsive target, even if it was only to irritate Ron. Indeed, she even seemed annoyed that the other Gryffindor sixth-year boys, Dean, Seamus and Neville were currently off-limits, being disgusted with her behaviour towards Ron, and were treating her coolly. 

            “Not like she doesn’t have enough admirers already,” Harry had said, mulishly. Lavender Brown and the other girls in his year were also giving him the cold shoulder, even though he hardly thought this fair. Ron had got all the business, and now he was taking some of the brunt, making it even harder than usual for him to find a partner for Dumbledore’s Silver Jubilee Ball. 

            As Harry was about to reply that he didn’t think they’d ever find a date, Professor McGonagall strode up with her arms full of parchment scrolls.

            “Will you each please complete one of these, roll it up, and bring it to me today?” she said, passing them along the long House Table. Harry unfurled his, and read.

_Dear Gryffindor House Members,_

_For Professor Dumbledore’s Silver Jubilee Ball, it has been decided that two members of each house, with their Head of House, will sit at the High Table with The Headmaster and the Head Boy and Girl, along with their respective partners. They may be from any year, and do not have to be Prefects or holders of any particular official position. Will you please fill in the three spaces at the bottom of this parchment with your name and your votes, and then tap it three times with your wand to activate the magical seal.. They will be kept confidential._

_Professor M. McGonagall_

_Head of House_

Harry glanced at Hermione who was already writing eagerly. She did look stunning, with her wavy hair thrown into a messy ponytail and her cheeks flushed. He looked away as she tapped it confidently, and tucked it into her robes. 

            “Who are you putting?” he asked Ron, as diffidently as he could. 

            “You, if you don’t stop looking at her,” said Ron, grinning. 

            “Shut up!” said Harry, elbowing him, and looking at his parchment interestedly. “ _Ginny Weasley_ and _Katie Bell_. Mm, good choices! So Ginny can take you if you’re desperate?” Harry dodged the imminent blow, and wrote in his neat roundhand: _Lalani Saskawitch, Alicia Spinnet._

            “’S’all going to be girls,” commented Ron, glancing at Harry’s names.

            “Nah, all the girls’ll put boys. Who’s Lalani Saskawitch?” 

            “Hot Russian seventh year. You know, blonde, tall. She’s trying out for Beater. Katie’s insisting that the Beaters are retrialled – Sloper’s lousy, and the other one’s not much better.”

            “Oh yeah. Hey, she’d look hot on a broom!” The boys left the Hall for Transfiguration, giving McGonagall their slips on the way out. 

            “Results will be up after supper, she said, magically unsealing them and ticking on a chart at her desk before throwing them into the blue flames in her hearth. Despite himself, Harry felt quite excited as he went up to the common room after supper, and Ron read the noticeboard over the heads of the crowd. 

            “The Gryffindor representatives will be Katie Bell and Harry Potter,” announced Ron, grinning. “Ha! I changed Ginny to you after breakfast. That might have been the casting vote! You sucker!” Harry groaned under his breath, as a bevy of fifth-year girls turned round to ogle him. He almost definitely heard Marissa Stockard say to Ginny: “D’you reckon he’d go with me?” 

            “C’mon,” Harry muttered to Ron, looking at Hermione’s disappointed face as he exited the portrait hole again, and went into an empty History of Magic Library just along the corridor.            “Marissa Stockard!” said Ron, gloating over Harry’s embarrassment. “C’mon, Harry, she’s not bad.” Marissa actually wasn’t bad looking, thought Harry. She was a clever girl, with a brother in Ravenclaw, and a mass of floating fair hair around a pleasant rosy face. 

            “Maybe,” said Harry, musingly. “What about you?” he asked.             “Well… Melissa isn’t bad, as I say. Bit of a gormless face, but what can you do? But to tell you the truth, I want to take Katie Bell. But I never will now she’s up on that board. She’ll have too many offers. In a way, you’re lucky, Harry, because at least you’ve got a selling point…” The boys laughed.

_ September 5th _

Hermione’s first target was Dean Thomas, a tall, well-built boy who shared a room with Ron and Harry. It started in the Gryffindor common room, during Quidditch practice, so the two boys were not in the room to witness it. Doubtless that was her intention, for as Ron had once said, she “didn’t miss bloody much!” She swanned over, swaying her hips rather more than usual, to where Dean and his friend Seamus were struggling over Arithmancy homework, and perched herself on the arm of his chair, hitching up her robes to show a well-tanned leg.

            “All right, boys?” she asked, casting an eye over Seamus’ parchment, which was covered in ink-blots, crossed out figures and his sprawling handwriting, and physically wincing. Artistic Dean’s was little better in content, but was at least neatly laid out.            “Mm,” grunted Seamus, noncommittally. The boys were still sore from Ron’s account of Hermione’s misdeeds, and were not particularly keen to talk to her, although her leg was well placed, and her perfume alluring. “S’pose you did it weeks ago,” he said, sarcastically. 

            “No, actually, I just finished it,” Hermione replied airily. “Not too difficult, is it, though? Dean, you’ve nearly got it right – you just need to use Trinius’ theorem to prove it. And for the end, you don’t need to draw it out; just calculate the angle of transfiguration, and then that can be inverted to finalise the degree. Look.” She passed him her own neatly worked out formulae, leaning across him purposefully with her open shirt. 

            “Oh, I see,” said Dean, scribbling down the correct answer.

            “Oh, and Dean,” said Hermione, arching an eyebrow questioningly. “I heard Ron mention you got an owl – and I’m off to the Owlery now – want to come?”

            “All right,” said Dean, getting up a touch too eagerly as Seamus muttered something about getting it in the morning. The pair exited the portrait hole. 

            “Oh, it’s OK,” said Hermione, as Dean made to climb the Western staircase towards the Owlery tower. “I know a shortcut.” She carried on along the fifth floor, along past where, the previous year, the D.A. meetings had been held. 

            “Wait, it’s somewhere here,” she said, frowning and turning about. “It’s just a little staircase, leading straight there.” They meandered around the corridor, Dean a little bemused, when a large leather-covered door materialised in the wall where the oaken one they both knew so well had used to be when Harry had run his secret Defence against the Dark Arts classes. 

            “What?” said Dean, looking at the door.

            “I don’t know what that can be,” said Hermione, curiously, walking over to the door. Dean pulled it open, and gasped. Inside was a beautiful room, all in cream and red, of which the central feature was a huge four-poster bed, surrounded by heavy red hangings. 

            “Who wished for this?” asked Hermione, with a mischievous expression. “This is the Room of Requirement, you know.” Dean did not seem to know how to reply, and merely gaped. 

            “Maybe it was a collaborative desire,” Hermione whispered, and kissed him on the neck. It took Dean a moment to realise what was going on, but he quickly caught on. He was a muscularly built, attractive boy, and lifted Hermione across onto the bed, where a large white duvet frothed across, and they continued to kiss fervently. Hermione smiled. Mission accomplished. A chill swept through her, but she ignored it, feeling the tight muscles in his biceps flex as he ran his hands up her back to unhook her bra-strap surprisingly proficiently. 

“Been practicing?” asked Hermione, grinning as he drew it out swiftly, and dropped it on the pillow.

 “Nah, comes natural,” breathed Dean, sliding his hands up her sides. “Seamus’ll wonder where the hell I’ve gone.” 

“Do you care about Seamus?” asked Hermione, softly.

“Hell no!” he replied as he reached her breasts. 

Dean pulled the hangings tight around the bed…

 


	2. September contd.

_ September 6th _

“I don’t bloody believe it!” said Ron, stuffing a fistful of toast into his mouth. He and Harry had taken theirs from the Great Hall in order to talk things over. “Is she some kind of addict? Can she really just not get enough in a couple of weeks?”

“Dunno,” said Harry glumly. “But picking Dean was just to spite us. She won’t stick on him. Shame – he’s a good bloke, and he doesn’t know. Can’t say we didn’t warn him though,” he finished. “And I have to hand in my invitation to the High Table tomorrow. I need a date for the ball – trust my luck.”

“Ginny?” asked Ron.

“I would,” said Harry, “but Jonathan Fabulus has already asked her.

“Jonathan who?” demanded Ron, instantly.

“Fabulus,” returned Harry, grinning. “Fourth year on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. “Their new Chaser, last year. You know – fair, biceps-boy type. Spends all his free time doing pull-ups on his broomstick. Nice though, apparently. He’s an up and coming Cedric Diggory, for looks and talents, Hannah Abbot told me.”

“Oh, _him_ ,” said Ron, darkly. “He tried to knock me off my broom in the semi-final.” 

“Of course,” smiled Harry. “But meanwhile, it doesn’t help my situation.”

“Take the prettiest girl you can get,” advised Ron, sagely. 

“Well, the prettiest girl in Gryffindor that I know at all is Alicia Spinnet – and she’s lovesick and miles out of my league.”

“But she might want to sit at the high table with her best friend,” said Ron, knowingly. “Plus, last time, did you see her in her dress-robes? Tight, black and lacy, I seem to remember.”

“That’s not helping, Ron. Who else is there?”

“Russian-hottie-avitch?” Ron asked.

“Lalani? In my dreams. Did you see her last night at Quidditch, though? My, oh my: hot with a broom, hotter with a bat.”

“And in her wet robes. Dreaming,” Ron continued, staring into space. 

_ September 6th – contd. _

Hermione was in her dormitory, the hangings of her four-poster bed all closed, although nobody was in the room. She desperately needed to be alone, and felt awful. This was the first time at Hogwarts that she had felt completely alone. Even in hard times before she had found solace in books, but now gazes followed her in the library, and she felt compelled to run away. It didn’t matter that most of the stares were admiring; she felt intrinsically different and distant. It didn’t matter that she had been so close with Dean last night, or that she had experienced more closeness than she had ever done in those last three weeks. It had all been cold. Except, perhaps, her night with Ron. But even that was tainted with the two facts that haunted her; all this was to spite Harry, and that everyone she really cared about now disregarded her. And the more she continued to sleep with more boys, the more this hatred spread. It was the same, in reverse, with her food: the less she ate every day, the less she ate. Hunger seemed like a remedy in pain. All she wanted was her old life - bushy-haired, slightly plump, slightly ridiculed though she might have been. But what would be the point, going through this fight, only to end up right back where she had started. She stuffed the pumpkin pasty she had stolen from Parvati Patil’s cupboard into her mouth, savouring the fullness of her cheeks, and feeling the delicious sweet crumbles squeeze down her throat. Then, bracing herself, she stuck her hand as far as she could reach, and retched. She hadn’t been able to do it at first – that had been the turning point, the slip into delectable madness. With her first vomit, that night, after Fred and before Ron, as she thought of it, she had sealed her fate. Power was the gift of puke; she alliterated wryly, stretching out her wand to remove the wonderful, but slightly offensive substance from the floor.

“Scourgify!” She didn’t bother to wipe the tears from her eyes, and just let them fall and cleanse her from the mouth downwards. Gravity took its course, and her mind was left polluted. 

_ September 7th _

“Shit!” Harry exclaimed, rolling out of bed that morning, kicking his feet into school shoes, and dressing hurriedly, after performing a rudimentary Showering Charm. The development of the Showering Charm by acclaimed domestic witch-goddess Elfredia Binkle had meant a revolution in the lavatorial habits of most of the wizarding community. They need no longer use the students’ bathrooms, although the prefects still indulged in the use of their lavish pool-style extravaganza, but instead could use a quick spell to wash themselves every morning. 

“Shit – Ron!” yelled Harry, as he pulled his robes over his head. “I need a date!” 

“Who cares?” groaned Ron, sleepily, as Dean and Seamus grunted and Neville continued to snore loudly. Harry ran out of the room, although he didn’t really know why getting up would help his situation. Down in the common room, he saw Katie and Alicia looking gloomy again, sitting with cups of tea by the fire.

“Hey, Harry, want a cup?” asked Katie, morosely.

“Yeah, sure. Want to find me a date for the ball?”

“No thanks – I’m having enough trouble finding myself one,” said Katie. “No offence to you, Harry, but I can’t think of any guys who I’d like to take. I just still have feelings for Lee, although he’s such a prat. Look what he sent me this morning.” She proffered the parchment scroll, and Harry read it:

_Katie,_

_Look, whatever happens, you’ll still be really special to me. I just don’t think it can work any more – it’s different now I’ve left school. I’ve got a job, as a trainee for the England Quidditch Stadium’s Sports Commentary Panel. The hours are quite long, but it’s fun. Dumbledore wrote me a good reference, or I would never have got such a good first job. I don’t have another girlfriend, but you know how it is. Anything you’ve probably heard about was just for fun. I’ve never felt the same way about anyone else, but I just can’t do it right now. I thought about you so much last night – I wanted to kiss you so much._

_Lee_

“What the hell was that supposed to achieve?” demanded Alicia, of Harry, seeing he had finished reading it. “I feel so sorry for you, Kates. What a bastard!” 

“Look, guys, I’d love to stay and discuss the bad points of the male race,” said Harry, grinning wryly, “but I have to have a date by nine, so I need to – ” 

“Wander the corridors until one walks into you?” finished Katie, arching her perfect eyebrow and smiling. “Coming to that, I need one too.”

“I’m never going to find one,” groaned Harry. “Hermione’s turned all the girls in my year against me, and Ginny Weasley, my only mate who’s a girl, has a date already.”

“Your only mate?” said Alicia, coyly. Harry felt himself blush, and his scar prickle. Was she flirting out of pity, or was she genuinely attracted to him? He hadn’t felt this tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach since he had been with Cho. Harry summed up his courage.

“’Licia, d’you want to come with me,” he breathed, hastily, turning a violent shade of puce. “D’you want to come with me?”

_ September 8th _

Harry was sweating as he woke up, cold with fear. Ron drew open his hangings, nervously.

“You all right, mate?” he asked, pushing his tousled red hair out of his sleepy eyes. “Still thinking about last night? Man, that must have been awful. You were screaming and everything just now.”

“Shit, sorry, did I wake everyone up?” For answer, Dean, Seamus and Neville grunted with one accord. “Sorry,” repeated Harry, with a wry grin at Ron. He got out of bed, and pulled a cloak on, shoving his feet into the maroon slippers he had been “given indirectly” by Mrs Weasley, as Ron normally put it. “C’mon, let’s talk downstairs.”

“Wha -” mumbled Ron. But Harry grabbed his friend’s maroon dressing robe, and pulled him bodily down the spiral staircase into the common room, and into one of the armchair pair by the fire. 

“So, I asked her to come to the ball with me,” Harry began, desperately.

“Mm,” grunted Ron. “So? She hit you? Cursed you? Jumped out of the window into the lake at the prospect? What the hell did she say that got you into such a state?”

“Yes,” said Harry, hollowly. 

“She said yes? That’s incredible – what’s all the fuss about?”

“I’m so scared about everyone knowing, and about seeing her, and oh, I dunno,” groaned Harry. 

“Relax, all right?” 

“Easy for you to say – you don’t have to take the hottest thing in seventh year to the celebration ball,” grimaced Harry.

“Um, debatable,” said Ron, pensively squinting out of the window. “I can think of hotter. Lalani Saskawitch, Katie Bell, and that random Ravenclaw with an awesome rack…” He tailed off as an owl didn’t tap gently on the window as trained, but smashed into it with full force, making a big crack in the yellow glass, and sliding down onto the sill, clearly unconscious.

“One guess who,” said Harry grimly, wrenching open the window and picking up the owl. “Is Errol blind, or just stupid?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron wretchedly. “Why didn’t he just go to the Great Hall with the rest?”

“It’s got an urgent mark, that’s why,” said Harry absently. “But what the hell do I do about Alicia?”

“Shit, listen to this,” said Ron, holding up his letter. “It’s from Mum.” The page was lavishly tear-spotted and limp.

“ _Dear Ron,_

_I thought I had better send you this in case, Merlin forbid, word gets around as far as Hogwarts about our news. It’s just too bad, especially for your father at the Minister. He won’t say as much, but I know he’s enough of a laughing stock there already. First you and that car, and now Fred and George have been charged for selling leprechaun brew in their shop on Diagon Alley. (I believe Muggles call it absinthe, if Hermione’s interested, although I don’t wish this news to go any further). I don’t know the honest truth of the matter, but the Puddlemere Juvenile Detention Centre has received a good few Howlers in their name. It may be a mistake, but I just don’t know what to believe of them any more. Their shop has been closed for searching by a Ministry of Magic SPRAT Squad, so I suppose we’ll hear more truth later.”_

“What’s a SPRAT squad?” broke in Harry, curiously.

“Substances Protection Restriction And Testing Squad, I think,” said Ron, glumly. “Poor Mum.” “Poor Fred and George,” said Harry. “If those Howler’s don’t rip their eardrums I don’t know what will.”

“That’s a point,” said Ron, in a monotone, shaking out the parchment to continue.

“ _I now feel even worse about allowing them to leave school, which puts a bitter twist on the situation. If they were within five months of leaving school, they would be eligible for Juvenile Vindication, but as they have been out of school for over eight months now, they could be in for an Azkaban sentence. I can’t bear to think about it._

_Behave yourself, Ron. Show this to Ginny, but only if you think the news will spread around Hogwarts. Say hello to Harry and Hermione for me._

_Love,_

_Mum_ ”

Ron broke off and thrust the letter into the pocket of his robes. 

“What’s Juvenile Vindication?” asked Harry, quietly. 

“Supervised community service. Actually, they do it here, at Hogwarts. You know Collis Aylesbury, the boy who was helping Filch? He was a Hufflepuff last year, and he stole a broomstick from Q.Q.S.”

“Oh,” said Harry, exhaling heavily. How could he now start going on about Alicia? But how could he get her out of his head? She was so small and perfect, so tanned after her summer holidays. He sighed again.

“I guess I’d better find Ginny,” said Ron, gloomily. “She’s not so much of a baby as Mum thinks.” He got up, and headed out of the portrait hole. Glad at this opportunity to slip away, Harry settled back into his armchair. He was about to pick up his book on defensive magic that Lupin had given him, but a familiar voice made him look up. Hermione, dressed only in a small strappy top and boys’ boxer shorts, was coming down the boys’ staircase with Jake Brenner, a tall seventh-year who had been friends with Roger Davies the year before. He had messy blond hair and a reputation for being a bit of a bad lot, although brave and good at duelling.

“Got to keep this quiet,” she was saying in an undertone. “How about meeting me by the Room of Requirement today at eleven? I have a free period until lunch then.”

“Sure,” said Jake. “Maybe I’ll bring some stuff f to make it a bit more exciting.”

“What d’you mean?” asked Hermione, widening her large brown eyes. 

“Let’s just say I have a bit of Puddlevodka around. Maybe some Firewhisky, if you’re lucky.” With what Hermione obviously thought was a devastatingly attractive wink, he jogged lightly back up the stairs. 

_ September 8th, contd. _

Hermione was waiting outside the Room of Requirement. Her wavy hair hung loose around her face, and she wore her school robe. Five minutes after eleven, Jake arrived, his schoolbag clinking suspiciously.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said, grinning lopsidedly as they entered the room, which was a bedroom once more. 

“So have I,” she said, smiling in what she hoped was a seductive manner. It appeared to work.

“And what might that be?” Jake asked. For answer, Hermione glanced down at the clasp on her robes.

“Open it,” she said, smiling. Jake breathed hard, and snapped it open. The robes fell apart to show beneath that Hermione was only wearing her purple bra and French knickers. Sighing longingly, he slipped it off her shoulders and kissed her, pushing her backwards onto the bed. 

“A drink?” he asked, as she sank back on the pillows.

“Please.” He jumped back off the bed and opened his school bag, extracting two bottles from it. Hermione had never drunk anything stronger than a glass of mulled mead at Hagrid’s house, but she knocked back a mouthful of Puddlevodka. Jake drained a good amount before he gave it back. Her mouth was burning, and she could feel the strong sensation rippling outwards in concentric circles, making her sluggish. 

“I feel warm,” she said, vaguely.

“Well, you look hot,” said Jake, running his tongue down her stomach. Hermione laughed, and kissed him.

_ September 9th _

Harry and Ron walked down to breakfast, exhausted after a long confabulation with Mrs Weasley in the common room fire at three the previous night. They had also been surprised to see Hermione creeping in through the portrait hole followed by Jake, both looking much the worse for wear as they scarpered up separate staircases. As they entered the Great Hall, Ron and Harry looked around for Hermione, but she wasn’t there.

“I hope she’s all right,” said Ron, uneasily. 

“Jake Brenner’s here,” remarked Harry. 

“Well don’t ask him, he’s pretty scary!” Ron cast a shifty look at Jake across his shoulder, as he started on his first bowl of cereal. “I do hope she’s all right though.” His freckled face crumpled slightly, betraying for a moment the close tie of friendship, and more, that still bound them. At that rather poignant moment, a skewer of coloured glass fell from above and stapled the bread to its wooden board, inches from Harry’s nose.

“What the fuck?” Ron yelled, springing back and knocking the bench over, unseating a row of first-years, who were catapulted backwards like dominoes, much to the chagrin of Professor McGonagall. She was already charging over to the Gryffindor table, nostrils flaring like a nervous horse.

“Don’t swear, Ronald,” said Ginny in a severe voice, pre-empting the Housemistress’ own strike.

“What on earth is going on here, Ronald?” she demanded.

“Nothing, Professor.”

“Why have nine first-years been upended?”

“It was an accident. Oh God,” he added, miserably, as a chubby little girl with long blonde hair began to cry. “I’m sorry.” Professor McGonagall decided it was in the interest of all to sail off back to the staff table, leaving Ron to deal with the mess he had caused. One by one, he helped up the children, the dull burgundy of his face clashing horribly with his hair.

“Ahem,” said Ginny, after her brother had apologised fervently to the weeping girl. Ron followed her outstretched arm upwards to a hole in the stained-glass window above them. A grey shape hung next to it. As they looked, it detached itself, and plummeted the thirty feet down to land exactly in the centre of a tureen containing scrambled eggs. They flew everywhere, disclosing a concussed Errol.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. This bird might as well… might as well… oh just get him out,” Ron scowled, as Ginny took the scroll from the owl’s prone leg. 

_Dearest Ronald and Ginevra,_

_Peckers up! (Although I’m not sure Errol’s will be after delivering this – the Juvenile Detention Centre_ _is in far-off Puddlemere) Look, guys, you have to cheer Mum up for us. I don’t think we’re going to end up with a sentence, not if we can talk our way out of it this morning at the hearing. We had been selling leprechaun brew on the quiet, but we’re going to say that we were a halfway house. Which is true actually, we were halfway between Mundungus and our customers. Anyway, hopefully this’ll all go away, and afterwards we have a business proposition for you, Ron. Don’t let Mum kill herself, and, more importantly, don’t let her send us any more bloody Howlers. They’re ruining our street cred here in Juvey._

_Love to all,_

_Fred and George_

“So that’s that,” said Harry, summarily. “All we can possibly do now is to watch and wait.”

“Yup,” replied Ron, dismally. 

_ September 9th, contd. _

Hermione was in her dormitory, lying flat on her four-poster, reading a heavy tome: _Neophilomancy: A Theory of New Age Numerology_. Her eyes were rimmed with a painful, glowing red, like the tint of dying embers. She was on the edge. Somewhere deep in her stomach, unrecognised thoughts were churning. She knew they were making her nervous, but she couldn’t pin them down. She resorted to her childhood trick of thinking through all the things that could be causing her “butterflies”. At first, she wouldn’t allow herself to admit the gnawing anxieties. But Hermione Granger had always had exceptional willpower. She wrote down painstakingly in her neat, looping handwriting with a fresh quill:

1) I miss the friendship of Ron and Harry 

2) I miss Ron

3) I feel constantly sick

4) Whenever I get with a new boy, I always think it’ll make things better. But it just makes me feel cheap, and then I feel worse, and then

Number four could have gone on forever. Tears slashed the parchment and pooled the green ink. Hermione couldn’t cry, with the normal heaving shoulders and contorted face. Water was merely streaming from her eyes. It felt like everything else, a quick solution to a much bigger problem; a plaster on a bullet wound. 


End file.
